Saturday, June 27, 2009

That tape with the discolored, scratchy cover.
Treasured because it was “from foreign”.
Later, memories of sitting on the swing on the dark porch.
Listening to the same songs over and over again. Even if the words were a jumble.
Strange how the mind remembers.
Where exactly a line reaches higher. How exactly a drumbeat sounds.
As Radio One played a tribute this morning, so much came flooding back.
The day the music died.
What a life.

5 comments:

PQ said...

Its always strange to me when ppl receive so much more respect when they are gone.

mago said...

Two kids.

Tempus magister.

austere said...

PQ- you have a point. We have a saying, muyi bhensh na mota dola- the deceased buffalo had big eyes.

mago- such indeed.

AmitL said...

'from foreign' is the right word-just last yr, I discarded all my audio tapes,since they were just not in use since ages..didn't really discard them-gave them to a books ki larriwala near the University so that he could sell at least some of them and make some money for himself.:)

austere said...

Amit- I have ALLL our tapes. And had bought this Sony cause it could play tapes.